


I'd Like to Make Myself Believe

by KaijuCatsnake



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Post-Canon, Soul Calibur VI - Freeform, Teen Romance, new timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 22:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaijuCatsnake/pseuds/KaijuCatsnake
Summary: Amy Sorel has been many things in her short life: A street urchin; a tagalong kid to a desperate nobleman; the adopted daughter of said nobleman; a fencer, a fledging warrior.What she has never been is a rescuer.The year is 1590, and after a disturbing encounter with the mysterious, maniacal man known as Azwel, Amy has made the decision to find her adoptive father Raphael in order to keep him from possible death-- or worse-- in his misguided, insane pursuit of Soul Edge. Armed with only her rapier Albion and with her loyal servant Maelys at her side, Amy sets off for the first time by her own will, finally in charge of her own destiny.But the winds of fate have a habit of shifting for even the most stubborn of people. An encounter with a mysterious young knight will bind her fate to someone other than Raphael for the first time, and bring her face to face with emotions she thought she had buried deep long ago as her destiny becomes entwined with the Two Swords, as it is with all great heroes in the eternal tale...





	I'd Like to Make Myself Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go... My first fanfic on this site. Hope anyone who reads it enjoys it. I don't own Soul Calibur or any of the concepts or characters within it.

### Chapter I: The Moonlit Rose

** 3rd of January, _Anno Domini_ 1590 **

“M’lady, it would probably be best if we stopped for the night.”

Maelys’ voice was gentle, but Amy Sorel still cut her gaze to her loyal maidservant in mild annoyance. The blonde woman was carrying their supplies, as their horses had fallen prey to a sickness that had claimed their lives.

“I can’t stop, Maelys, not now. We're close.”

“Close to what, exactly, m’lady?” Maelys asked, but Amy didn't respond. She stood stock-still. This was what she had seen last night in a dream: this footpath, this forest, even that large rock in front and to the left of her, all at this time when the full moon was highest. But there was no sign of...

_Wait._

Amy gave a slight twitch of head, the elaborate, distinctive curls that her vermillion hair was styled into quivering with the motion. She tensed, straining her senses to detect what was around her. A twig snapped to her right, and the redheaded young swordswoman twirled on her toes to face the sound, unsheathing her rapier and holding it aloft in her hand firmly, the tip pointing in the sound’s direction. Amy opened her mouth to speak, to call out in command of whoever or whatever made the noise, but she didn't get the chance. An inhuman _snarl_ pierced the air, and out from the trees lumbered a sight Amy had never expected to see.

Before her stood a figure that was over a foot taller than her, even with the high heeled boots she was wearing, and certainly much more massive. But what was most noticeable was the fact that this freakish figure was covered in grayish-white fur, with a face in the shape of a wolf…

And glowing red eyes looking right toward her.

_Werewolf,_ was the thought that popped into Amy’s head before anything else, even as she stared into its eyes.

“M’lady!” Maelys cried, dropping the supplies she carried and getting between her charge and this monstrous intruder. She drew a short sword at her hip, but the beast simply swatted her away with its forearm, sending the maid sprawling to the ground. Amy’s eyes darted from the wolfman to Maelys, then back again. She took a shaky step back, her heels digging into the dirt as she brandished Albion once more. The wolfman gave pause at this and slowly angled itself downward, bringing its face closer to her own. It was still growling, teeth bared in a snarl.

Amy remembered hearing, years back, a piece of advice about certain animals: Looking them in the eye would cause them to perceive one as a threat and make them likely to attack the onlooker in defense. For others, eye contact was indeed a challenge meant to convey that the onlooker would not go down without a fight. She kept eye contact with the beast as it's face came to within inches of her own.

Its breath stank of death and decay. She could see dark spots on its fur; probably blood. Saliva dripped from its jaws, landing on her forward-facing foot. But Amy did not react, not even to blink. She simply kept staring. After a few moments, the wolfman began to sniff her hair, then her face. Its snarl lessened, and it pulled back slightly, letting out a tiny whine as its ears pulled back as if in submission.

“What…?” Amy asked, her voice barely a whisper, as she cautiously reached out, her hand trembling just slightly, to touch the beast’s fur. But just as her fingertips were about to reach the wolfman, it abruptly pulled further away, standing at its full height and sniffing the air, before looking to Amy’s right and growling.

“It's a dangerous time to be out in these woods. Quite frankly, I'm amazed that anyone can see anything right now without a torch. Rather fortuitous, wouldn't you say?” spoke a new voice that was close by, but difficult for Amy to pin down exactly. Smooth. Confident… And young. A rustling was heard, and a blond man stepped out from the trees, the moonlight illuminating him enough to be seen as Amy looked to him, and she gave a soft gasp.

_Light of hair, light of skin, light of eye-- All things I saw in my… premonition?_ Amy thought, studying the newcomer as much as she could. He was taller than her, roughly as tall as the werewolf that continued to growl at him, which he seemed supremely unconcerned by.

“I would recommend getting as far away from that beast as possible, my lady,” the mysterious young man said, before brandishing a blade that looked to be a cross between an arming sword from centuries past and a more modern rapier; a _spada da lato_, or side-sword, Amy remembered from her lessons. Such a weapon was meant to both slash like a longsword and stab like a rapier, but didn't specialize in either sort of strike as a result. Such a weapon also meant that this man had to specialize in the Italian Dardi school of fencing technique, compared to the French _La Rapière des Sorel_ technique used by Amy herself.

“Who _are_ you?” Amy asked, her tone defaulting to guarded and suspicious.

“No-one of consequence,” the blond said, stepping forward and idly twirling his blade in his hand. “But that monstrosity is malfested; it could go berserk at any moment. See to your companion while I kill it.”

Amy looked to Maelys, who had not moved; she was unconscious, but there didn't seem to be any damage to her, outwardly at least. She turned her head back to the wolfman and newcomer. Based on the fact that this man had referred to her specifically with the honorific “my lady”, enunciating both words clearly, he had to be of noble birth-- or perhaps, like her, he was brought into such a life at a young age. _Curious._

The wolfman seemed to get more agitated, snarling at the newcomer, and the blond figure took a stance before suddenly thrusting the tip of his blade toward the wolfman’s chest. There was a metallic _clang!_ that pierced the night air, and the young man’s eyes widened as he looked to the thin blade of Albion, its tip aimed at his face, while his own blade’s tip was pointed dangerously close at Amy’s face in turn. There was a stillness in the air that hung for a moment as Amy watched the young man look to her in surprise. His eyes slowly traveled down her body, stopping at her boots and lingering there for a moment before moving back up to her face.

For her part, Amy was less interested in what the interloper was wearing and more on his face. He was young, younger than she had initially assumed; despite his towering over her, he looked to be around her own age, perhaps a year or two older. He was quite handsome, truly, in a manner not unlike Raphael-- if he had not spoken before revealing himself she might have mistakenly thought he _was_ Raphael. His wandering eyes caused her to tense slightly; she had been subjected to such ogling when she was younger, but the fact that this man-- tall and fair yet still half a boy for all that-- was looking at her not with lust, but with the expression of a boy who had never seen a pretty girl before now, caused her to relax.

_Not a rapist, then. Just a young fool,_ Amy thought to herself, her expression unchanged as they met eyes again. “Go,” she said in a firm voice, though she wasn't sure whether she was commanding the boy before her or the wolfman beside her. It was the wolfman who obliged, turning and barreling off into the night.

“You're letting it _go?!_” the boy asked, aghast, as they still crossed their blades. “Do you _realize_ what you've done?! That monster--!”

“Did not hurt me,” Amy replied coolly. “I was actually about to pet it, before you came along. It was handled.”

The boy’s expression changed as he looked from Amy to the unconscious Maelys, then back again. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Yes, the combination of the unconscious woman on the ground and the malfested werewolf running free to go around eating or infecting people is a _stunning_ testament to your situation-handling capabilities,” he replied in an utterly deadpan tone. Amy’s eyes narrowed, both at the boy’s snark as well as the odd familiarity of that word, _malfested_. She couldn't recall where she had heard it before, though.

“Shut up. Tell me who you are.”

“Well, which is it then? Do you want me to introduce myself or shut--?”

Amy flicked her wrist, breaking the bladelock, and put Albion’s tip at this vexing boy’s throat before he could react. Momentarily surprised, he gave a slow grin that made Amy’s eye twitch in annoyance.

“Who. Are. You,” Amy said, her tone cold and forceful. Then the boy was a blur, striking Albion away with his own blade and pushing it downward. Unprepared, Amy stumbled at this, instinctively putting out her free hand to grab onto something before it was grasped by the larger, warm hand of the boy, who held it gently as she righted herself. Still grinning, he got down on one knee before carefully bringing her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers softly one at a time as he looked her in the eyes.

Disregarding that this particular variation of the ancient gesture was in breach of several rules of noble etiquette, the gesture itself caused Amy’s cold exterior to break for just a moment as her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. Perhaps because she was a former street urchin, no noblemen had ever actually performed the gesture of respect that was kissing her hand. That, and something in the way his eyes looked as he gazed into her own made a shiver run down her spine. She had no idea what to think of all this. The boy, however, noticed Amy’s surprised expression and his grin widened, becoming more charming than mocking.

“I am Sir Jorin of the House of Ilder, of the Kingdom of Denmark, my sweet lady. It is truly an honor to meet a young woman of such unparalleled beauty as yourself,” he said smoothly. A moment’s pause, and Amy snapped to her senses, snatching her hand away and returning to her cold demeanor as she raised her chin, looking down at this supposed knight impassively as she let out her held breath through her nose.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” she said icily as the boy stood. “The only people who flatter are those who want something out of their target.”

“A wise observation, my lady,” Jorin Ilder said, giving a theatrical bow. Amy’s eye twitched again; flamboyant figures vexed her more easily than most, primarily because they acted and reacted in ways that were difficult for her to predict. That, and their antics simply annoyed her.

“I would protest that I was simply speaking the truth about you, and I am indeed, but I do in fact desire something from you. Namely, an explanation as to why a lovely girl such as yourself is out wandering the forest so late at night to begin with. If you will indulge me, of course.”

“I will not. Go away now,” Amy replied curtly, turning on her heel and marching toward Maelys, who was beginning to stir at last. She could feel his eyes on her again as her dress swished with each movement, her legs and feet suddenly tingling at the attention. She wouldn't have called it an unpleasant sensation, but she did her best to ignore it anyway.

“You’re staring at my legs. Stop it.”

“So perceptive,” the blond boy said in response, sounding amused. Amy did not deign to respond in turn, though her lips formed a thin line as she crouched down in front of Maelys.

“Maelys. Maelys, wake up,” Amy said, gently tapping the woman’s face with her palm. The blonde maidservant fluttered her eyes, before suddenly sitting up.

“_M’lady!_” Maelys yelled, her eyes wide, before she was steadied by Amy’s hands on her shoulders. Panting heavily, she looked around in confusion. “M’lady… What… Where is the monster? Are you hurt?”

“I’m alright. The beast ran off into the woods,” Amy said, standing up and helping her maidservant to her feet. “And… I found who I was looking for,” she added, a trace of resignation in her voice.

“Beg your pardon?” both Jorin and Maelys asked simultaneously, and the maid looked to the newcomer.

“Has this man tried to hurt you, m’lady?” Maelys asked, hurrying to take up the sword she had lost. Amy considered for a moment.

_He seems suspicious to me, and his demeanor is annoying, yet… He was the one I saw in my dream, I'm sure of it. And he did try to protect me, misguided though his attempt may have been…_

Amy’s green eyes widened as a sudden realization came to her. For much of her childhood she had been alone, getting by with only her own intuition and wits. Any help she had received from others had been temporary, and always with some sort of catch, some sort of arrangement. That was, until she had met Raphael and he had taken her in after saving his life. He had been the only one to show her true selflessness since then. But despite Jorin’s sarcasm and attempted flirtations, Amy’s gut told her that he had not intervened for his own benefit.

_He’s like Raphael…_

“... No. He was the one who drove the beast off. He saved my life,” she said after that momentary pause to think. If he was surprised by her words, he didn't change his expression.

_He must be good at hiding his thoughts. Like me,_ Amy mused, while Maelys lowered her sword and stepped toward Jorin.

“A thousand thanks to you, good sir. If the young miss were to be harmed, or worse, I… I don't know what I would have done. I'm eternally grateful.”

Jorin gave that charming smile and another bow. Amy wrinkled her nose in quiet distaste, tuning out his no doubt braggartly response to Maelys so as to look around the forest again. There was no sign of the werewolf… Or any other malfested, whatever they were. It didn't sit right with her; why hadn't the wolfman attacked her? And why had it looked like it was going to _defend_ her, to boot?

“Young miss,” Maelys called, pulling her from her thoughts. “Sir Jorin says he can give us shelter for the night.”

“Yes,” Jorin said as Amy turned to look at him. “An abandoned cottage about a quarter of a mile back the way you came. The former occupants might have been chased away by the werewolf. Based on what I saw, it's been deserted for at least a week. And I imagine you both are rather tired.”

Amy narrowed her eyes at this, but said nothing in reply, instead moving beside Maelys as Jorin led them back the way they had come. It took roughly a quarter of an hour to reach this cottage Jorin had spoken of, which did indeed look abandoned. Amy spotted two horses attached to a hitching post, both asleep.

“Found those two yesterday when I stumbled across this place. They had gotten free of the post, so I brought them both back to it,” Jorin explained, before entering the darkened home. Amy heard him stumbling around a bit before a light came on, signaling to Amy and Maelys that it was safe to come inside.

The place wasn't a hovel, actually having at least one bed, which satisfied Amy well enough. Though she'd been sleeping in much finer beds for years by this point, she still remembered what it was like to sleep in dirt, or on stone, often without a proper blanket. She didn't want to have to go through that life again if she didn't have to.

“There’s another bed in that room over there,” Jorin said, pointing to his right, and now not looking to either of them. “Kitchen’s on the opposite side. Have either of you eaten?”

“About two hours ago, m’lord,” Maelys said as Jorin moved to a spot in the middle of the main room and proceeded to take off the top he was wearing. It was now that Amy actually noticed what he was wearing: Comfortable-looking clothing of black and gray coloration, but not ostentatious. Fitting for a man who was trying to travel in what Amy assumed was discreetness instead of acting like the nobleman he claimed he was, though she was confused by the design of the outfit itself; it looked like nothing she had ever seen before, with a high-hemmed gray jacket and a shirt underneath that looked as if it were some sort of military wear. But what got Amy’s attention the most was a symbol just under the shoulder of his top: The head of a lion with three crossed swords behind it, all set within a triangle. _Most curious..._

M’lord? What are you doing?” Maelys asked, and Jorin looked at her over his now-bare shoulder.

“Undressing for bed. There’s only two beds here, so I'll sleep on the floor.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion. More like confusion. What was this boy’s angle? She watched as he unbuckled his belt, setting down the sheathed side-sword he possessed. Her eyes moved back up, toward his back.

“What? But m’lord, you're the one who saved the young miss’ life. You brought us to this place. Please, don't debase yourself on our account, I'll sleep on the--” Maelys tried to say, but Jorin cut her off, turning his head to face forward again before speaking.

“Please, I insist on this. If we get attacked in the night, I would rather be in a spot where I don't have to risk being tangled up in bedsheets, or too far away from the doors to react in time. You should both get ready for bed; I will not look.”

Amy frowned in thought. He didn't sound like the flirtatious braggart of earlier. In fact, at the moment he sounded much older than he actually was. Much wearier as well. She briefly scrunched her face up in mild irritation; Amy prided herself on being able to read people easily, to predict their motives and intentions and react accordingly. This boy, this self-proclaimed knight, however… He had gone from one extreme to the other repeatedly: from cool and collected, to shocked and angry, to bitingly sarcastic, then flirtatious and-- dare she even think the word-- _romantic_, and now to… somber, and respectful. Was he sick in the head, unable to control switches from one emotional state to the other? Or was one of these emotions the “real” him?

Or, perhaps, he was simply like most people who wore their emotions on their sleeves most of the time, and every instance of contradictory emotions she had seen from him were simply all genuine reactions to stimuli. Still, the fact that she just couldn't get a proper measure of the boy before her vexed her to no end. She was so lost in thought, she didn't hear Maelys move into the bedroom further away, and was only drawn out of her thoughts as Jorin spoke again.

“You're staring at my body. Continue,” he said slyly, looking to her with a small smirk on his face. Amy blinked rapidly, her green eyes focusing on his blue ones.

“Referencing my earlier words. Clever,” Amy deadpanned. “I don't understand you… My lord.”

“What’s not to understand, my lady?” Jorin asked, turning and revealing his toned front to her, which Amy’s eyes briefly wandered over in spite of herself. The fact that he was in such good health was what convinced her that, at the very least, he certainly wasn't a peasant, or a bandit masquerading as a noble.

“Why are you doing this? Helping us, I mean.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart?” Jorin asked her.

“Yes,” was Amy’s blunt reply.

“A wise thought process, my lady,” Jorin said. “But not one fit for making friends. Do you need help undressing?”

“I don't need friends, and I certainly don't need your help in undressing myself. Besides, you said you wouldn't look.”

“I did, and I won't. I simply thought you might appreciate assistance in getting all those ties undone,” Jorin said with a shrug. “My mistake, my lady.”

He turned away to undress further, and the two did not speak again before settling into their positions.

Amy struggled to sleep. The memories of the werewolf and a mental review of everything that had transpired kept replaying over and over in her mind. She planted her face into the pillow, which was tougher than the one she had gotten used to at home.

_Home…_

At one point that had been the slums of Rouen. Then it became the Dumas estate that Raphael had inherited. And suddenly she was struck by just how much she longed for the comfort of the manor now. But she didn't have that; she was in an abandoned shack with a maidservant and a mysterious young man who, though she was loathe to admit it, actually intrigued her. She puzzled over this for some time longer, before sleep claimed her, and she dreamt of werewolves, red-eyed monsters, and two swords that floated together in an endless, twisting and writhing expanse… Even in her dreams, she was able to ask herself one question:

What did it all mean?


End file.
